


childhood

by wincestgoddess



Series: ABC's of... [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, Mother Hen Dean Winchester, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestgoddess/pseuds/wincestgoddess
Summary: It’s been months since Mommy died.This is the journey of 4-year-old Dean finding purpose again in his baby brother; this is the story of Sam growing up under the care of a devoted big brother.
Series: ABC's of... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956697
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Jld71 for being my wonderful beta once again and to DeansBonnieSammysClyde for helping me when I got stuck and just overall being my cheerleader! ❤

**Anew**

It’s been months since Mommy died. 

Between packing his stuff and moving around, five year old Dean can’t keep track of how much time has passed. 

He knows his birthday came and went without so much as a celebration. Knows that Daddy spent the day passed out on their new couch, a bottle dripping amber liquid onto the carpet. 

He knows he woke up that day and for a moment, for just a sweet millisecond he forgot Mommy’s not here anymore and he woke up feeling excited, expecting to see blue eyes smiling down at him and kisses to rain down on his forehead.

Snores coming from the room next to his woke him up instead.

There were no cake or balloons. No presents or hugs; the kind of hugs only a mother can give, where they completely envelop you in their arms and you breathe in her perfume and you wonder if you’ll ever be as happy anywhere else as you feel right here in her embrace.

It’s been months since Mommy died. Months since Dean last uttered a word. 

Daddy encourages him to talk sometimes but he soon grows frustrated and goes back for another bottle full of the amber liquid.

Sammy though? Sammy's safe. His baby brother can’t talk yet and he doesn’t know better.

He’s free from the excruciating loss both his father and brother are going through. Sammy only knows nap time and food.

Sammy knows green eyes have taken over blue eyes when it’s time to feed him. He’s storing away in his brain the watery smiles his new caretaker gives him.

Sam knows to babble incessantly, eager to start talking only being 10 months old. He’s starting to familiarize himself with patterns. Knows that if his pudgy hands wrap around Dean’s fingers, he’ll get a smile in return.

Dean notices all this. He’s become very observant ever since he stopped talking. 

He notices Daddy’s sadness, even if the man is more distant now. Even if he doesn’t tuck him in at night anymore.

More importantly, he notices Sammy’s growth. There’s a knot of anxiety that wraps around his throat whenever his brother opens his mouth, when it looks like he’s about to talk for the first time.

What kind of big brother is he, that he can’t encourage Sam to speak? 

The pain of losing Mommy is a festering wound eating him up inside and sometimes, sometimes Dean wishes Daddy would hug him more often. 

It’s not Mary’s perfume, but maybe John’s cologne could provide the comfort he desperately needs. 

So, Dean hugs Sam. Most nights, he creeps out of his room and over to Sam’s crib. He presses his body closer to the baby’s and kisses the top of his head.

Sam’s not such a fussy baby when Dean’s involved. He mainly coos and his hands excitedly slap Dean’s sides gently when he’s cradled against big brother’s secure chest. 

Sam’s hugs don’t completely heal him. But they surely help. 

It’s not surprising then, that after almost five months of not talking, Dean breaks his silence in his brother’s crib. 

Sammy doesn’t say his first word, truly, nothing life-changing happens that evening. It’s only Sam’s hazel eyes and his gummy smile and the giggle Dean draws out of him.

It’s Dean’s heart soaring for the first time in what feels like forever, and it’s this _warmth_ that unwillingly makes his eyes water. 

It isn’t until then that Dean feels the wound hurt a little less.

“Sammy.”

**Baby**

“Daddy, Sammy needs diapers.”

John cried the day Dean finally spoke around him. Faced with a worried kid, the man instantly assured him they were happy tears, which Dean thought was silly. 

Still, some part of Dean thought he wouldn’t mind the ‘happy tears’ as much if they often followed bear hugs like the one Daddy gave him afterward. 

Things don’t immediately get better though. 

Today, Dean finds the fridge fully stocked with those brown bottles Daddy likes but he also sees they’re running low on milk and baby food. 

Sammy likes the apple flavor but he hates peas.

A man on a mission, Dean closes the fridge and after he’s made sure Sam’s entertained with a couple of Dean’s toys from when he was a baby, he decides to check what else is missing.

What he finds is nothing short of overwhelming.

They’re low on pretty much everything. Which makes sense since John hasn’t gone shopping for groceries in over a week and a half now.

Creeping back into the living room where John’s asleep on the couch, Dean debates whether he should wake him up and inform him of his discovery.

He’d want to know, right? So they’ll have food for tonight because a hungry Sammy is a fussy Sammy and Dean knows Sam’s cries sometimes get on John’s nerves.

But there are dark bags under the man’s eyes and he looks positively exhausted. 

His inner conflict is resolved when he goes back to check on Sam and feels how squishy his diaper is. Scrunching up his nose, Dean gently plants Sammy down on his crib again and worries his lower lip between his teeth. 

His brother needs a new diaper; he needs food and the cream Daddy puts on his butt every night. 

It’s at the tender age of 5-years-old that Dean’s forced to make a decision. 

He lets his Dad rest, steps over a discarded brown bottle on the floor and calls Ms. Hughes. She’s their neighbor here, she’s a sweet old lady that stopped by one day and gifted them a casserole. 

She slipped Dean some cookies too. Sugar cookies which he’d spent the rest of the day looking forward to. She told John if he ever needed any help, or a babysitter, he could call her. 

Ms. Hughes lives alone and says she misses her grandchildren, even though they visit as much as they can. Dean knows this because she said he looked like her eldest. 

Ms. Hughes is now also the woman who helps Dean. They leave a note for Daddy and she takes him to buy diapers and food, and everything he needs for baby Sammy. 

They couldn’t have been gone for more than fifteen minutes. Dean thinks Daddy should still be asleep by the time they come back, but he’s wrong. 

Dad’s awake and alarmed. Sam’s crying and his diaper is still squishy where he’s flailing on his crib.

Ms. Hughes vouches for Dean and while John thanks the old woman for taking such good care of him, Dean does _not_ receive the same treatment. 

The grip on his arm is too tight and Daddy’s yelling at him. Not at all the relieved tone Dean had heard when he’d first talked.

“I wanted to wake you up but you were tired. And… and you were drinking. I don’t--” cutting himself off, Dean’s lower lip quivers and he wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

“I don’t like it when you drink the brown stuff.”

**Car**

Things took a turn after Dean’s shopping adventure with Ms Hughes. 

Daddy’s face had gone from red and livid to this sad, sad expression Dean had never seen before. 

Except maybe the day their house burned down. 

After that day, the fridge was no longer so full of the brown bottles, though Dean spied his Dad occasionally drinking one or two during the night when he thought Dean was in bed.

Now Sammy had more flavors to choose from and whilst John didn’t have the patience to feed him, Dean was happy to fill in for his dad. Feeding Sammy was one of his favorite things to do. Giving him baths under Daddy’s supervision was number two.

Sammy would coo at the plastic duck and shriek in delight when Dean gave the baby a bubble mohawk. 

Dean thought Sam would look cool with long hair. Maybe they could both grow long hair when they grew up!

All in all, Dean liked to think things got better after that day. 

Even if Daddy was still distant and cold, he also made more of an effort now. 

Dean knew a daddy’s job was hard, and his daddy’s had to be especially hard now that he didn’t have Mommy to help him. 

Dean could help him with Sammy if that’s what he needed. 

First order of business: Sam must get to know every member of this family. Dean knew the baby could recognize his and John’s faces.

It still hurt to think about Mary. Plus, Dad was the one hoarding the few pictures that weren’t destroyed in the fire and Dean wasn’t brave enough yet to ask him for one.

There was another family member though. 

“And this is the ‘Pala!” 

“Impala, Dean.” John gently corrects.

“Right! She’s Daddy’s car but she’s ours too, Sammy,” 

With a smile, though not as bright as his son’s, John follows Dean’s pace and sets Sam down in the leather seat, right next to his big brother.

“When I grow up, I get to drive right, Daddy?” Dean asks, turning his beaming smile on John.

“That’s right, kiddo. And so will Sam.” 

The baby in question is looking around. He’s been in here before but car rides make him sleepy, so he wasn’t as alert. 

Now though, he’s looking around in wonder and when his big brother takes his hands in his, places them on the wheel and imitates an engine’s sound, Sam laughs. 

Sam’s laughter is precious. It is the one thing that John feels pulls him and Dean closer nowadays. They’re both utterly helpless to the baby’s happiness.

It is infectious.

“She’s our family too, Sammy.”

The boys don’t know it now but that statement will ring true for years to come. 

**“De”**

Dean knows Sam’s pretty smart for a baby.

He has the brightest eyes the boy’s ever seen. Apart from his own, maybe. He guesses green is a pretty bright color.

Sam’s change though. One second they’re green, next thing he knows they’re brown and when the light hits them just right, Dean swears he can see some blue.

Sam’s also curious. Dean’s kind of afraid Sam’s head will come off with how often he keeps turning it, always alert to every little sound.

All in all, Dean’s assessment is that Sammy’s a healthy baby. 

And healthy babies, according to his daddy, should start talking once they turn one year old.

Sam’s strung together syllables so far but they’re not _words_ yet.

Daddy’s trying to be more ‘involved’ in their lives, whatever that means. Dean’s just happy he seems to smile more around Dean now, even though they're small smiles.

Thing is, it’s been a little over a month since Sammy officially turned one and he hasn’t said his first word yet.

There’s a part of Dean that’s scared that maybe his brother picked up on Dean’s muteness and he decided to copy his example. He wants to be the bestest big brother in the world. Good big brothers talk. 

“C’mon Sammy,” 

That’s Daddy. He’s taken it upon himself to help Dean encourage Sam to talk.

“Can you say daddy? Dad?”

It’s on the tip of Dean’s tongue to suggest Sam try saying mommy but the words get stuck in his throat. It’s too soon.

Giggling at this new game of theirs, Sam claps his hands and babbles, reaching out for John afterward.

“Can you say Dean?” Dean’s voice is still quiet. His throat no longer hurts from all the months of disuse but he’s still hesitant, even now, to speak up. 

Sam’s head turns when he hears his voice, his gummy smile growing. Cooing, the baby reaches out for Dean instead but is stopped by Dean’s gentle hands.

“No, Sammy. Say Dean. You can do it.”

Little brows furrowing, Sam babbles once again, his hands reaching out insistently to cup Dean’s cheeks. 

An unbidden smile tugs at the boy’s lips but he sighs. “S’not working, Daddy.”

“Give him time, Dean. We can try again tomorrow. For now, how about you go get me his food, huh?”

Dislodging Sam’s hands away from his face, Dean gets up and starts heading to the kitchen. But something stops him.

“De!” 

There are tears welling up in Sam’s eyes and his hands are extended, still trying to reach out for Dean, apparently disheartened that his brother’s leaving so soon.

“De!” Sam’s wearing an almost angry pout as the first tear slides down.

No more tears manage to make their way down though because soon as he hears it, Dean’s right there, with a huge smile on his face and embracing his baby brother.

“That’s right, Sammy! De! Daddy, I’m his first word!” He looks up at John, amazed by today’s turn of events. 

And maybe it drives a spike through John’s heart knowing he’s distanced himself so much from his boys, enough that Sam’s first word isn’t ‘daddy’. One look at Dean though and John can’t come to resent it. Not if it makes his little boy smile like all is right in the world for the first time in months.

**Easter**

When John awakes one morning to find they’re out of eggs, he doesn’t think much of it. 

He could’ve sworn they still had at least three left… but then again, the alcohol muddles his memory every so often, even when he’s doing his damndest to stay mostly sober these days.

Frozen waffles it is. 

Later that day, when Dean asks if they can go to the park, John doesn’t question it. In fact, he feels his gut clench with the familiar guilt he’s growing accustomed to. 

Ever since Mary… well, let’s just say there haven’t been many baseball games and outings to the park. Just the memory of the happy family they once were, it’s enough to break a man.

Dean’s been so good, though. His good little boy; talking again and helping him with Sam, and Sam? God, the toddler dotes on his big brother, even at such a young age. Looks at him like he hung the stars. 

So maybe John doesn’t think twice of Dean’s request because the guilt might be eating him up inside.

It isn’t until they’re finally there that John starts putting the pieces together. 

Surprised, and maybe a little amused, he watches his son reveal three messily painted eggs, with what seem to be crayons and the watercolor set Mary got Dean long ago.

Tongue sticking out in concentration, Dean proudly displays them to Sam, who unlike John’s amusement, is sporting a look of wonder. The toddler reaches for one egg.

“They’re not for eating, silly,” Dean laughs. Then, smile still firmly in place, he turns to John and very carefully hands him the eggs.

“Can you hide them, Daddy? Me and Sammy will look for ‘em!”

Quirking a brow, it’s with herculean effort that John barely keeps himself from grinning. “You know, Easter already passed, kiddo.”

Dean’s smile takes on a shyer aspect, he scuffs one shoe against the grass, looking down. 

“I know… but we didn’t get to paint eggs, or, or look for ‘em and this is Sammy’s first Easter, Daddy.”

His eldest looks back, hopeful and just a tiny bit worried. John realizes with a lurch of his heart that his boy’s worried he might say no. That he won’t wanna play with them. 

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, John looks at Sammy, at his baby who’s now tugging on Dean’s sleeve and repeating his name to get his attention. 

Breathing in deeply, nostrils adjusting to the smell of freshly cut grass, John puts on a small smile and ruffles Dean’s hair. 

“You’re right. We gotta make Sammy’s first Easter a good one, don’t we?”

The tension seems to leave Dean’s small frame all at once and he surprises John twice that day by wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“I love you, Daddy.”

John will dress up as the fucking Easter Bunny next year just to hear those words again. 

**First**

It came as a surprise to Dean when Sam didn’t want to go to his first day of kindergarten

He’d thought his little brother would be excited to make friends, to get out of the house and learn!

He hadn’t anticipated the rivers of tears. 

Because after having explained that no, Dean wouldn’t be going with him because Dean was in another grade for bigger kids, Sam’s smile had fallen, his lower lip had dangerously quivered and next thing he knew, he had a crying brother in his arms.

Hands sticky with the chocolate pudding he’d had earlier that day, they’d wrapped tightly around Dean as Sam cried and asked _why._

He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Dean there with him! 

It had taken a lot of convincing, mostly on Dean’s part and a half-hearted effort from John but together, the two Winchesters had eventually managed to coax Sammy into his first day. 

With the promise of Dean swinging by his classroom to pick him up and the clever bribe of a second chocolate pudding for dessert after dinner.

Dean was willing to let his dad think it was smart on his part. He didn’t need to know Sammy had already agreed to go before the offer had been made.

Five years old and Sam was shaping up to be as smart as Dean had once thought.

What Dean also hadn’t anticipated was the worry that came with being a big brother. The kind of worry that had you tapping your foot insistently, mind going crazy with different scenarios. 

What if the kids didn’t like Sam? What if his teacher was mean or super strict?

He’d fidgeted in his seat the whole morning and as soon as the bell rang, Dean was off, not even bothering to say goodbye to the few friends he’d made there. 

Sammy was waiting for him! Maybe even crying again because his mean, ugly teacher didn’t like his drawings like Dean did, or maybe the other kids had taken Sam’s lunch, or---

“Dean!” 

Feet slowing down, Dean’s breath leaves his lungs when a smaller figure comes crashing into him, arms wrapping around his waist and a dimpled smile beaming up at him.

“First day wasn’t so bad?”

“It was awesome!” Sammy exclaims, making use of Dean’s favorite word in the world. 

“Told you so, Sammy. C’mon. Let’s go home and you can show me what you did.”

A hand, as sticky as it was that morning, though now coated in unknown substances, slips into Dean’s and grips it tightly.

**Glitter**

Surprisingly, after that dreadful first day, it didn’t take long for Sam to slide into his new routine.

Truth be told, he was scared of his teacher not liking him, of not making friends, and even worse, being away from Dean for _hours._

Mrs. Robinson was young and kind, and she didn’t once rush Sam’s introduction to the other kids, just smiled gently and encouraged him into his seat. 

As for friends, he hadn’t made any yet but there was this girl named Sarah who sat next to him and a small boy named Toby who let him borrow his crayons. 

He hadn’t wanted to share the lunch Dean made especially for him, but seeing as Toby offered him to trade, Sam considered it fair. 

The chocolate pudding was off limits, though. 

So, all in all, Sam could say he was… fitting in, just like Dean had assured him.

He liked his teacher’s voice and the games they played; he liked learning more and talking to Dean about his day when he got home.

He liked drawing the most. 

And today that’s exactly what they were gonna do. Mrs. Robinson had given them the very important task of making a card. 

She tells them it can be for their mom, or for their dad. Perhaps for one of their friends.

But Sam doesn’t have a mommy and looking down at the pink sheet of paper he’d chosen, he doubts his daddy will appreciate it much. 

He doesn’t have friends either. He could try and make it for Toby as a thank you for the goldfish crackers, maybe. 

Tapping one little finger against his pursed lips, Sam doesn’t debate for long because as soon as he spies the messily scrawled ‘Dean’ on his used crayons, he figures it out.

Of course! His brother is the perfect choice. 

Nodding decidedly to himself, Sam starts working. He’s determined to make Dean the prettiest, shiniest card. 

Which to a 5-year-old means a card filled with drawings, hearts and the most important ingredient: _glitter._

Sam soon finds out that he loves sprinkling glitter all over his masterpiece. He even chooses blue glitter as it is his brother’s favorite color

In the end, he ends up using too much glue and he’s not 100% satisfied with the drawing of the car next to Dean’s proud stick figure. 

Yet, once he hands it to his big brother and receives a wide smile in return, along with Dean ruffling his hair, Sam can’t help but think his card must’ve been the best one after all.

**Heartbreak**

“You can’t have my chicken straps!”

“Chicken strips, Sammy. And Dad said you have to share,” Dean sticks out his tongue.

Pouting, Sam crosses his arms. 

“If you share your chicken strips I’ll share my fries,” Dean sing-songs, poking Sam’s ribs once, twice, until Sam’s pout dissolves and the giggle is unstoppable. 

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Still laughing, Sam slaps one hand away, but can’t help as his smile matches Dean’s.

“What’s taking Dad so long?” the youngest Winchester asks, standing on his tiptoes to try and peer into the window of the diner. 

“Maybe he’s really hungry.” Dean could only hope Dad’s card worked this time. It’ hadn’t been fun to sneak away last time. 

“ _I’m_ really hungry,” Sam emphasizes with a little stomp of his feet. 

Under their car, there’s a whine and a scattering noise. 

Ears picking up on it, Sam frowns and is about to crouch down when suddenly Dean extends an arm to stop him from doing so. 

Dean’s features have hardened, and he pulls Sam back gently but insistently. Worst case scenarios are running wild in his mind and he spares an oblivious John Winchester a look. 

He wonders if he could call his dad for help before the creature attacks, whatever it might be. He has his knife handy of course, but he’s just starting to learn how to use it and what if--

“Dean, look!”

Internally cursing himself for letting Sam out of his sight while he was musing the best tactic, Dean springs into action, tense and ready for a fight. 

Finding Sam now crouched down and hugging a dirty looking dog isn’t what he expects to see.

It’s a mutt, really. His brown fur is matted and looks dirty; he’s missing part of one ear and he’s painfully skinny. Dean can easily count the ribs. 

However, his state doesn’t seem to put a damper on the dog’s mood when faced with his overenthusiastic brother who’s stroking him and talking softly to him; in response the dog licks Sam’s cheek, tail wagging happily.

Dean feels like an intruder for a moment and that bothers him. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that as the next second, he’s faced with a twin pair of puppy eyes. 

“Do you think we could keep him, Dean?” 

Up until that moment, Dean had seen it as a blessing that Sam had never asked for a pet before. Oh, he knew the time would come, he just… he didn’t think it’d feel this hard. Now faced with bright eyes and a dimpled smile, and a happy laugh the filthy mutt seems to draw from Sam, Dean’s stomach sinks. 

“Sammy…” Dean starts gently, “I’m sorry kiddo, but we can’t take care of a dog.”

Sam’s smile drops, taking Dean’s heart with it too. 

“Why not? Dad wouldn’t even have to worry, I could take care of him! I’ll take such good care of him, Dean!” 

Sighing, Dean crouches down next to Sam, reaches out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know you would, Sammy. It’s just… you know how I told you Dad’s job makes us move and that’s why we never stay in one place too long?”

Sam nods, shoulders slumping from the brunt of rejection. 

Dean always tells him yes. Always grumbles about how he’s impossible to say no to but his brother’s always there to make him grilled cheese or tuck him in at night, or comfort him after a bad dream.

If Dean’s saying no… Sam’s eyes fill with tears unwillingly and he turns his head away, burying it into the animal’s rough fur.

A tongue licks his tears, a concerned whine only makes his fingers curl into the fur tighter.

“H-he’s so skinny, Dean,” Sam wipes his tears furiously, uncaring of the snot on his sleeve. “He’s all alone here and scared. We can’t leave him,” Sam’s look is nothing short of imploring.

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Dean barely resists the urge to wipe Sam’s tears away, bundle him up, take the damn dog and hide him from John’s view. But John is too smart, too observant. Too strict in his rules. 

“We can take him to a shelter…” Dean suggests.

“A good one?” Sam’s lower lip quivers and Dean’s resolve fully breaks right there. He doesn’t care about the snot either as he wraps both arms around his brother.

Sam leans into it instinctively, a few more tears spilling past his closed eyelids.

“Yeah Sammy, a good one. I promise, okay? I’ll… I’ll talk to Dad about it.”

Six years old and still mostly sheltered from their lifestyle, it’s in that moment where Sam starts to understand they’re not like other families. Dad’s not like other dads.

Tucking his face into the nape of his big brother’s neck, battling against the heartbreak he’s experiencing for truly the first time, Sam lets himself be comforted by Dean’s warmth and finds solace in him. The one person in his life who looks out for him.

Sam might not be able to have a dog, but he has Dean. 

**Inconsolable**

True to his word, Dean found a nice shelter for the dog. Even more, he went above and beyond and checked up on him even after they left town.

That’s how Sam found out the dog now had a loving family who would take care of him.

That should’ve been it. Dean thought that’d make Sam happy and in a day or two, the whole thing would blow over.

Except that it has been a week and Sam’s _moping._ Dean’s even tried making his famous grilled cheese, he’s taken his brother out for ice cream and nothing.

Not even the flicker of a smile.

It’s eating him up inside. He’s not Dad. He can’t chalk it up to some ‘Sam thing’ and move on. He feels helpless watching his usually bright Sammy simply go through the motions.

“Not hungry?” Dean asks softly, bumping Sam’s foot with his own under the table.

Sam shrugs, picking his food apart with his fork and staring sadly at the unappetizing spaghetti and meatballs.

“...Y’know Dad gave me extra money today, you want a milkshake?” Dean suggests, his tone hopeful as his hand toys with the dollar bill nervously.

Another shrug. Dean isn’t even granted a look in response. 

It’s not okay, no matter what Dad tells him. Dad’s not the one trying. He’s not the one that has to tuck Sam in at night, he’s not the one that sees Sam’s sad eyes every day. 

It’s with a heavy heart and a pocket full of change, that Dean attempts one last thing. 

Luck must be on Dean’s side because the motel they’re staying in now, it’s slightly better than all the other ones they’ve been to. And it comes with a gift shop.

Mostly postcards and keychains, but Dean’s got a purpose as he rifles through every item the little shop can offer.

It’s at the bottom of a shelf that he finds it. 

The stuffed dog’s dusty but as Dean runs an experimental hand over it, he finds it still maintains its softness. 

Dumping all his change plus one crisp dollar bill he might’ve swiped from the groceries jar, Dean becomes the proud owner of one dusty but otherwise perfectly kept stuffed dog.

He doesn’t give it to Sam right away though. First, he takes Dad’s scissors to one stuffed ear and cuts it in half. Never let it be said Dean Winchester doesn’t pay attention to detail.

He can’t do much about the fur so Sam will just have to imagine the ribs. Then again, perhaps this happier, healthier version of the dog that got away will cheer him up even more.

The clock strikes nine when Dean steps up next to Sam’s bed, where his brother’s dutifully waiting for him. 

Hidden behind his back, Dean licks his lips and he doesn’t say a word as he finally gathers the courage to hand Sam the stuffed thing. 

“I know it’s not a real dog, but… I thought, maybe… um, do you like it, Sammy?”

Sam still hasn’t said anything, staring down at Dean’s somewhat of a creation. It’s when Dean starts reaching to take it again that Sam snatches it away, hands curling tightly around it.

“He’s missing half his ear,” his little brother says softly, in awe. Reverent fingers stroke over the missing appendage, trail down the dog’s back. 

Then, Sam hugs the stuffed dog tightly to his chest and finally, _finally_ grants Dean with the first smile of the week. Hazel orbs no longer dance with sadness.

“I love it. Thank you, Dean.”

**Juice**

“Do you want more soup?”

A crumpled tissue flies through the air, it lands on the floor which is already littered with a nicely formed pile.

He better get to cleaning that. 

Leaning forward, Dean’s stopped by a small hand on his chest. 

"You’re not s’posed to get up! Dad says you need to rest.”

“Oh c’mon, I’m not that sick.”

Hazel eyes glare at him with more intensity than a 6-year-old should be able to express.

“Sammy…”

“Do you want more soup?” His little brother repeats the question, making a slightly grossed out face when Dean sneezes into a tissue, and yet he still smooths Dean’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. No hesitation.

Kid’s weird like that.

“No, I don’t want more soup.”

Biting his lower lip, Sam looks down thoughtfully at Dean’s empty bowl in his brother’s lap. 

‘Think, Sam. What does Dean do when you’re sick’, Sam thinks to himself. 

“I know!” he exclaims happily and bends his body forward, ignoring Dean’s sound of protest as he reaches over to grab his cherished stuffed dog.

“Here,” Sam hands a confused Dean his precious ‘Bones’, relaying the dog a silent message to take care of his big brother in the meantime. 

“Wha--” Dean doesn’t have the chance to say anything else before Sam’s rushing off and into the kitchen. There’s a clatter which slightly concerns Dean, followed by the distinct bang of the cupboard closing. 

Fortunately, Sam comes back just before Dean can really panic. In one hand, he’s holding a big tall glass of orange juice, holding it with a proud smile, presenting it to Dean like it’s the answer to all his problems.

“Um…”

“Orange juice will help you get better, Dean. Remember?” 

Sweaty, warm and sick, Dean is still unable to fight the corners of his mouth from quirking up into a fond little smile. 

“Right. Good job, Sammy. I’m sure I’ll be all better tomorrow.”

Satisfied and content by his words, Sammy cuddles up to his brother, uncaring of his state as the other slowly sips his juice. 

**Kmart**

The Winchester lifestyle wasn’t one of traditions. It was not a life of routines and weekly outings or family lunches. Their life was one of adapting, of constantly moving. 

Their lives could fit inside three separate duffel bags. In the blink of an eye, they could vanish from whatever town they’d been staying in. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

John took care of business and moved on. 

Grocery shopping was not much different. It wasn’t something they strictly did every Tuesday. It also very much depended on whether they had enough money and whether John was around or not.

For all of his whining and grumbling, Sam looked forward to them. Roaming aisle upon aisle of frozen products, vegetables and more importantly, toys, was an adventure. 

He also liked it when Dean pushed him around in the cart.

“Onward, noble steed!” Giggling, the smallest Winchester raises both arms where he’s bundled up inside their cart, surrounded by boxes of cereal and canned products. 

He tried sneaking in a small bag of M&M’s earlier on. John’s warning gaze had stopped him.

Dean snuck it into his back pocket instead. He’ll pay for it with his change. 

“Here we are, oh Sam-I-Am, the bravest, deadliest cowboy this side of the West,” Dean proclaims dramatically, bows for his brother and watches with a barely hidden smirk as Sam gets off the cart only to gape at the aisle they’re at now.

“Can I?”

Chancing a glance at their father, who’s only a few feet away, Dean meets hopeful hazel eyes once more and nods.

“Stay close.”

Apparently that’s all the permission Sam needs because he’s off like a racehorse, all excited eyes and eager hands and bright smiles as he shows Dean his favorite toys. 

Ten year old Dean knows they can’t afford one. But god, he wishes they could. Wishes he could buy Sam more action figures instead of the ratty army men that were Dean’s.

Maybe if next time he used a bigger coat, one that had more pockets too… so far, he’s only been able to steal little things, like small candy and a mini-strawberry jam jar on one memorable occasion. 

A sigh ready at the tip of his lips, Dean looks up from where he’d been staring at the ground pondering, ready to check out the next toy Sam has to show him. It takes his brain a full minute to process; a minute wasted on getting his breath back because Sam’s not there.

Sam is _gone._

“Sammy?” 

Silence.

He can feel it. The sweat starts to form at the back of his neck, the numbing of his hands, like hundreds of ants walking over his skin; the pure, sheer panic that wells up in his throat and the way his chest grows smaller. 

Dean can’t breathe. 

“Sam!” His feet spring into action then, running down the expanse of the aisle, checking the two next to it, all while John’s slipping further away from him too, trustful of his watch. 

Sam’s smart. He knows he’s not supposed to stray, he _has_ to stay close, stay where Dean can keep an eye on him. 

Reality for the 10-year-old shifts and in a moment of absolute dread, everyone around him takes on a different form. Shifters, ghouls, monsters. They’re all monsters. Monsters that wanna take his brother.

Dean’s breath hitches, the stinging of tears pushing against his eyes. 

“SAMMY!”

A small voice whispers that John’s gonna kill him. He ignores that one in favor of the loudest one, the voice whispering into his ear that this is his fault, and now Sammy’s gone. Probably dead. He’s dead and Dean was just thinking of ways he could get him a freaking toy, god--

“Dean!”

Head whipping around so fast that it kind of makes his neck hurt, Dean immediately zooms in on the figure barreling through old ladies and lone guys shopping to get to him.

The arms that wrap around him are pretty much the only thing that keep Dean from sinking to the ground.

“Sammy,” Dean breathes, his anxious hands running down his brother’s back, pushing into his messy hair just to _feel_ that he’s there. He’s real. He’s not some monster’s lunch. 

“God, Sam, don’t scare me like that again!” Dean’s not a brother right there, doesn’t feel like one. Not when he just experienced every parent’s nightmare come true. 

“I-I wanted to see the giant stuffed bear they had, and I thought you were following me, I turned around and you weren’t there.”

It’s only then that Dean hears the wavering in his voice, notices Sam’s arms are just as tightly wrapped around him, much like his own around Sam.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam. I… I looked away for a moment. Stupid. Shouldn’t have.”

“Dean… I couldn’t find you,” Sam buries his face in his big brother’s neck then, basking in the comfort that Dean offers, the comfort that for one scary moment he thought to be gone. 

It’s how John finds them. 

And it’s with the same sense of loyalty that a stolen bag of M&M holds, that Sam tells their father an elaborate story that leaves Dean out of the mess. Out of John’s wrath.

He did learn after all from the puppy situation.

The boys hold hands the rest of their shopping trip and never once let go.

**Lullaby**

Dean had been four years old when his world completely shifted. Four years old when suddenly he had responsibilities; his childhood had been ripped from him and he’d been thrown into a world of darkness. 

Dean Winchester had grown up too fast. And still, John’s boy was shaping up to be a good soldier, a good _son._

This lifestyle they led required that kind of toughness. It only made sense for the boys to start sleeping on separate beds. 

Six years old and still oblivious to what lurked in the dark, Sam was too kind, too softhearted, too easy a prey. He couldn’t rely on a big brother to protect him all the time. 

So, first step? Separate beds. 

Dean had given John an incredulous, concerned gaze when he’d told him. That should’ve been a warning sign. But really, how was he to expect the temper tantrum of epic proportions his youngest was gonna throw?

“Sam, don’t make me say it again. You’re too old now to be sharing a bed. Separate beds it is. That’s an order,” massaging the greying hairs around his temple, John had put his foot down. Case closed. 

He’d stuck around to make sure both boys did indeed follow his command; pretended not to see Sam’s lower lip quivering and his wide, hurt eyes or Dean’s worried frown. 

Satisfied once both kids were in bed, John said goodnight and retired to his own adjacent room for the night after checking the salt lines and locks.

The timing had been against John from the start. Maybe if he’d tried this tactic earlier, not so soon after the ‘Kmart incident’ as Dean was dubbing it in his head, maybe it could’ve worked.

As it was, Sam still felt sore and raw all over. Losing Dean that day, it had been a nightmare come true for him as well. It hadn’t been only Dean who’d seen his whole world crumbling before his very own eyes. 

From the beginning, Sam had been granted a protector in his big brother. A best friend. A wiser soul; all wrapped up in a security blanket Dean’s warmth provided. 

Suddenly, Dean had been gone and Sam was surrounded by strangers who kept bumping into him, strangers who gave him weird looks before moving on, _scary_ strangers; Sam had felt powerless. He’d felt stranded on an island, like one of his favorite book characters, except Sam couldn’t find his savior like them.

He’d never felt as small as in that moment. 

Sleeping on a different bed, without his brother’s body next to him reminding him of his presence, no wonder Sam woke up not even half an hour later.

Heart thudding wildly against his chest, one shaky hand reaches clumsily for Bones while the other throws the sticky covers away. Sticky with sweat. 

Swallowing hard, Sam gets up on jello legs, approaches his brother’s bed and pokes him. 

“Sam?” Dean rubs the sleep out of his eyes and yawns, hazy eyes slowly but surely becoming alert as they assess the small frame in front of him. 

“I-I had a bad dream. I got lost again,” Looking down, Sam sniffles. 

“C’mere.” Big brother doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t abide by John’s rules here, not now. Not when Sam’s close to tears and his body’s shaking and he sounds so _scared._

He’ll be a good son in the morning. Being a good brother is his priority right now.

Both boys settle in Dean’s bed, where Dean doesn’t think twice about pulling Sam close and stroking his back. His hand occasionally goes up to brush his hair

“You know when I had bad dreams… Mom used to sing to me.”

“...would you sing to me too, De?”

Brushing away Sam’s bangs and absent-mindlessly noticing he needs a haircut, Dean nods after a minute or two of silence. 

It’s with a raspy, off-tune but gentle and soft voice that Dean brings Mary Winchester back to life. He’s the love and affection of a mother incarnate and the worry of a big brother, and the protection of a father.

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad…_

**Mac ‘n’ cheese**

When Sam’s seven years old he starts complaining. 

Nothing big, really. He’s still young enough to follow along to the beat of his dad and brother’s steps. Still young enough to find himself content with what they have. 

Even if he misses the friends he makes at school, or still wishes they could have a dog. Or a permanent house. 

Dad’s a salesman, it’s his job to travel all over the world and make sure clients around the globe are satisfied. Dean paints it in a more magical light. Sounds better coming from his brother. 

Anyway; no, what Sam starts complaining about is the food. 

There’s only so many times 11-year-old Dean can make spaghettios and Lucky Charms for dinner before his kid brother grows bored of the repetitive dishes. 

This poses a problem when Sam actively starts acting out. 

Kid won’t eat. He turns up his nose now and demands something else; more like whines really but in the end, it’s the same result. Sammy’s not eating. 

“Sam, c’mon.”

“Why can’t we have something else? It’s always spaghettios. Or some… some diner food!”

“Well, what do you want to eat?” Dean asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

There’s a ticking moment of pondering silence.

“Pancakes!” 

Dean looks back up, incredulous. “That’s diner food!”

“Nuh-huh, not homemade pancakes. Rachel’s mom makes her pancakes with fruit every night.”

“I bet she doesn’t complain about having them every night,” Dean narrows his eyes, though as usual it falters under the heavy weight of Sam’s puppy eyes and his pout.

So, another night where Sam refuses to eat goes by.

Dean chucks the spoiled spaghettios with a grumble and a forlorn glance at the pile of money Dad had left him. There used to be more, but… with Sam’s school trip to the aquarium, Dean had to fork a few bills over. His brother had been so eager to go.

Salvation comes in the form of a trusty dish with a twist. 

The next night, as dinner time rolls around, Sam finds himself staring down in confusion at his plate. He looks up to Dean’s big grin.

“This isn’t different. I always eat mac’n’cheese.” Well, maybe not always. And yes, maybe it’s one of the repetitive dishes Sam likes more than others. But the point stands, he wants something different!

“Nuh-huh. See, this is mac’n’cheese à la Dean. Extra cheesy and extra delicious too.” 

Peering into his bowl, Sam does notice a few different, new things. Bits of bacon for starters. Not to mention another type of cheese mixed with the original recipe from the box.

Curious enough to try, Sam eats a spoonful. His eyes light up and immediately widen. 

“So?” Dean prompts, hiding the nervous twitch of his hands as he awaits Sam’s reaction.

“It’s so good!” Shoveling another spoonful into his mouth, Sam closes his eyes in bliss. 

“What’d you put in it?” the younger kid asks with his mouth full after a beat. 

“It’s a secret,” Dean winks and goes to serve himself a smaller portion, choosing to leave more for Sam who undoubtedly will ask for seconds. 

He does. 

From that point onward, mac’n’cheese à la Dean is a dish enjoyed in the household, one that no matter how many times Sam has it, it will always take him back to this day. 

**Note**

“What’s that?” With some sort of cat-like reflexes Sam had no hope of achieving yet, Dean snatches a sticky note from where it’d been pasted on the front of Sam’s notebook, peeking out of his backpack.

“Give it back!”

And maybe Dean would’ve. Really, he would’ve, okay? But anything that made Sammy flustered like that was worth reading. 

Clearing his throat, Dean turns away from his brother and holds up the note high up, squinting at the little drawn hearts.

A girl, then.

“Sam,” he pitches his voice as he starts reading. “Thank you for sharing your lunch with me today. I think you’re really cute. Maybe we could play during recess?”

By now, the flush’s spread, making Sam’s ears pinken and the tip of his nose, too.

“Xoxo,” puckering his lips in imitation of a kiss, Dean smirks at his brother. “Lindsey.”

“That 's mine!”

“Ooo,” Dean crows, easily vaulting over the couch, avoiding one skinny arm reaching for the note in the process. 

“Someone’s got a crush on youuu,” the older brother sing-songs, pasting the note to his forehead with a triumphant grin. 

“Tell me Sammy, is she pretty? Did you share your Capri Sun with her? Did she give you a big thank you kiss?” 

In an act worthy of an annoying, teasing older sibling, Dean stops Sam’s hands in their tracks when he plants a big wet kiss on a pink cheek. 

“Ew, you’re so gross, Dean!” 

Chuckling, Dean basks in Sam’s obvious embarrassment before finally deciding enough’s enough. He flops down onto the couch with an exhale and hands the sticky note back to a grumbling 7-year-old. 

“She cute then?”

Giving him the stink eye, it takes Sam a moment to let his brother’s grin work its magic; his shoulders eventually relaxing as he huffs. 

“She’s nice. I don’t like girls, though,” Sam scrunches up his nose at the mere notion. 

“Ah, right. Girls are gross,” Dean nods with a mock serious expression.

Staring up at Dean through his bangs, Sam spies the teasing grin that cracks a second or so later and sticks his tongue out, elbowing Dean. 

“Ouch, hey, I’m kidding! It’s normal, Sammy. Girls find you cute, so what? Hey, they may even share _their_ lunch with you.”

“I don’t have to… write her a note, right?” 

“Nah,” Dean wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer, a gesture the younger sibling’s so familiarized with, he instinctively leans into it. 

“Just… keep being nice. We’re ditching town in a couple of days though.”

Sam nods, surprised to feel relieved now that Dean seems to be giving him actual advice instead of making fun of him. The note is forgotten as Sam basks in the arm around his shoulder

“You never answered, did she kiss you?” 

“Dean!” 

**Observe**

Growing up in an environment without a mom and where his father wasn’t around most of the time, Sam had had no choice but to look up to the next person in line. The person in charge, the one who practically raised him.

Dean may have not realized it; still dead set on Dad being the boss around here, the man who called the shots. If Dean saw Dad as his idol, as his role model, then why wouldn’t Sam too?

Dean was Sam’s first word. The first steps he took were toward his brother. As a baby, he’d adored Dean, vied for his attention whenever he could. Sam’s adoration had never once faltered.

Yes, at some point he realized who John was, and he learned which emotions he should’ve associated with the man; but when Sam really thought about it, he just… he didn’t feel that way. John was more of a shadow. Dean was always there. 

So, when he turned four years old, little Sammy didn’t look up to John. He looked up to Dean. Bright hazel eyes would track the older boy’s movements and copy them. 

If he had a bad dream, he went to Dean.

Needed help with his homework, maybe?

‘Ask your brother, Sam. I’m busy.’

Little Sammy would observe. He’d store away small details in his mind: Dean always cut the crusts off his sandwich, he hated tomato rice soup and he jumped at the chance to embarrass Sam; the latter eternally worked to annoy him. 

Dean got into fights a lot. He got into his first fight at school when he was six and some kid taunted him about being an orphan now that his mom was gone. 

Sam didn’t know this. 

All he knew was that his brother got into fights. Sometimes he came back bruised, knuckles scraped and red. 

Sam put Spider-Man band-aids on them.

He was always witness to Dean's state after these fights, and, on some memorable occasions, he got to hear his brother paint them in vivid pictures with his words. 

Never actually watched Dean fight. Not until one day he got off class early and went to look for his big brother during recess. 

Sam actually _watched_ as this huge, burly kid pushed a frail, sickly looking kid to the ground, and spat ugly words at him. He saw the boy’s eyes fill with tears and fix on the ground shamefully. 

He watched Dean step in, in all his avenging angel glory, like the ones from Sam’s books. Sam watched him stand up to the bully and protect the weaker kid. 

Sam watched Dean be a hero, that day. 

It’s what prompts him to step up for a deaf girl in his class. 

Sam’s never been a fighter, he is however a fiery little thing that’s learned some choice words from his brother, as well as a key movement involving his knee aiming at the other kid’s crotch.

“You okay?” he asks Rita afterwards, once the kid’s on the ground and groaning in pain. 

His lips move slowly so she can read them. After a while of hesitation, she nods and offers him a shy, thankful smile, accepting the hand he offers and letting Sam pull her up. 

Sam gets a warning note from his teacher that day. The note reaches Dean instead of John, and as Sam recounts the tale with a wide smile, the older brother can’t even fake being disappointed or mad. 

Not when Sam’s so proud of what he did. Not when _Dean_ is proud, as well. 

**Photos**

Not a lot of things could be salvaged from the fire. 

The Winchester boys didn’t just lose a member of their family that day, they lost memories that day, too. 

Mary’s perfume had burned. Each time John tried to remember her fragrance, more often than not, he turned to the bottle in the end. 

Dean didn’t complain about the bottles anymore, not like he’d done all those years ago. Now he simply cleaned them up and took comfort in the fact that Sam was sound asleep by the time he finished. 

Many stuff had been lost yet there was a box. A wooden box with Mom’s initials carved in it; a box John kept hidden and was still under the impression Dean didn’t know about it. 

More importantly, he was under the impression he didn’t know of its contents.

Dean only ever dares open the box when John’s away. When he’s sure the salt lines are laid out and the roar of the Impala can no longer be heard, and when Sam’s doing his homework in the safety of their room, that’s when Dean heads to the couch.

He takes his time looking through the photos, wanting to sear them into his brain. 

If he concentrates hard enough and closes his eyes while one finger traces Mary’s face, he swears he can feel arms wrap around him and an angelic laugh huff into his ear. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can almost see John’s smile, the pure, unaltered love shining in his eyes. 

“What are those?”

Startled, Dean scoots backwards into the cushions, the jostle making the photos fall from his lap and onto the floor where they are quick to scatter.

“Wait!”

Dean’s warning falls on deaf ears though, as his nosy brother’s already gathering the photos in his hands, turning them over to get a look. 

“Hey, that’s Dad! And… is that you? You were a chubby baby, Dean,” Sam giggles, though it falls short when his eyes take in the last person. Quiet for a worrying second, he looks back up at his brother. 

“Is that…?”

Snatching the photos back, Dean glares at Sam. 

“These are Dad’s. He’ll kill me if he knew you were snooping around.”

“Does he let you see them?”

Fuck, that’s definitely hurt edging into Sam’s tone. Shoulders slumping, Dean looks down at Mary’s smile and shakes his head, resigning himself to the turn of events. 

It isn’t fair, John keeping these from him. From Sam. Although… Dean’s never been too talkative about Mom to Sam either. Maybe he should… make more of an effort. 

It just _hurts._

“Yeah, Sammy. That’s Mom,” the freckled boy murmurs, making space for Sam as his brother joins him on the couch to look through memories he barely recalls.

“She’s so pretty,” an awed voice whispers. 

For one terrifying moment, Dean’s chest feels tight, his eyes sting and his throat closes up. And god, if he could he would let himself feel it, but this is _Sammy._

Can’t show weakness. 

“Dean,” awe turns to hesitation pretty quick. “Will you… I mean, can I see them with you next time?” 

Dean catches just a glimpse of hopeful hazel orbs. He’s unable to do anything else but nod in that moment. 

“Yeah, Sammy. Next time.”

**Quest**

“C’mon,” Sam cajoles, draping his body over Dean’s lap in possibly his most dramatic attempt yet. He blinks up with innocent eyes and pouts. 

Dean rolls his eyes and looks away, trying hard and in vain to not let Sam’s puppy dog eyes affect him. Jesus, that kid will truly be the death of him. 

“I don’t even know if we have the damn book anymore.”

“We do. I found it, it’s all dusty though.”

Dean narrows his eyes but Sam just gives him a smile in return, all doe-eyed. 

“I haven’t read that to you since you were little.” Dean raises a brow, looks on curiously as Sam sits up and reaches for the book, where he’d apparently been hiding it under the pillow. 

“Please?” Sam hands the dusty book over, blows on it and chuckles softly when it makes Dean cough. 

“Fine. But you’re washing the dishes tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

And so it begins, Dean’s voice softens until the tone traps Sam into a journey he heard long ago. 

Despite the book’s worn state, the images Dean’s words paint are still a vivid tale, all taking place in the pictures, most of it in Sam’s head where he can easily see the battles.

He can see the knights in all their glory; he can see the light shining off the Holy Grail, reflected in Dean’s green eyes when Sam looks up at him for a millisecond. 

At some point during the story, though Sam couldn’t tell when, the two boys have scooted closer to each other, with his head on Dean’s shoulder and his brother’s arm instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him in, where Sam feels he belongs.

Sam’s eyes feel a little heavy now, but he fights off sleep. He can’t lose the fight when his favorite part’s coming up. 

Sir Galahad’s image works wonders for his sleepy state. Sitting up a bit straighter, Sam’s gaze focuses on the page. 

Sir Galahad is kneeling, with rays of light streaming over his face. 

Something unpleasant flutters in his chest, a small frown marring an expression that not long ago had slipped into a peaceful one. 

Sam could never… he could never go on such a quest, to find such a holy object. 

_‘I’m not clean.’_

Barely a whisper, yet the words seem to settle low in the pit of his stomach. Sam snuggles closer to Dean, letting his head trail lower to rest against his chest instead, ear pressed against his chest. 

The words don’t make sense. Sam doesn’t understand their meaning. There’s something wrapped around his heart, though, something flowing through his veins and at the tender age of seven, he can _feel_ it. 

It’s Dean’s soothing voice that lulls him to sleep and finishes the tale.

It’s the knights that are waiting for him in his dream, refusing Sam a seat at their table.

Not clean. 

**Redemption**

It so happens that in Scottsdale, Arizona, Dean gets a chance to make things right.

He knows he doesn’t _need_ to, knows that Sam’s gotten over it, mostly. 

He also knows if he does this, if he actually manages to pull this off, then maybe, just maybe it’ll alleviate the guilt he’s been carrying in his heart ever since that night. 

‘It’s gonna be a long one’ Dad had said. ‘I trust you’ll take care of Sammy. I left you enough money for groceries. No more school trips, Dean.’

Dean had nodded, sought the extra money hidden in his pocket and let the texture soothe his worries. If Sam needs more money for another school trip, he’ll pay for it. 

Dad doesn’t need to worry about that.

The plan’s set in motion as soon as John leaves. It needs to be a surprise. Dean can’t bear watching that same disappointment completely take over Sam’s face if things go wrong. 

First thing he does is make sure to find a good, reputable shelter. Once Dean knows what he’s looking for though, it’s not that hard and it doesn’t even take him a full hour. 

Step number two is easy as well. Dean just needs to walk a little further down the motel’s parking lot to find what he’s looking for.

After a thorough examination, Dean deems him worthy of coming back to the room with them. He’s determined that he’s clean enough, only needs a good scrubbing shower, and there’s no worry of fleas. 

‘Freshly abandoned’, Dean’s heart squeezes at the thought. 

“You’re gonna live like a king for a whole week buddy, maybe more.” 

It takes some work but Dean manages to hide the wriggling bundle in his jacket (still slightly oversized for him, but Dad says he’ll fill it out in no time). He will admit that by the time he makes it back to the motel, he’s struggling to hold onto the slippery creature.

“Dean?”

Uh-oh. Sam’s looking at him weirdly now; more specifically he’s looking at his jacket weirdly. His eyes widen not a moment later and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Sam’s assumed it’s a monster inside of Dean.

But then he remembers they watched ‘The Thing’ not long ago and his panic is short-lived.

Not on board with his stupid plan, the puppy slips down and tumbles onto the carpeted floor with a yip. 

“Um… surprise?” 

“We can’t keep him!” Dean rushes to explain before Sam can give him hopeful eyes. “But… Dad’s gonna be away for a whole week, and maybe, we can take care of him in the meantime.”

“Dean--”

“I already found a good shelter for when we have to go so you don’t have to worry about that, either.”

It feels like an eternity before Sam’s surprised expression drops, before a smile lights up the whole room and Dean’s heart in the process.

“Thank you.”

Sam thinks it’s hilarious to name their temporary puppy D, after the one who saved him.

Dean, in turn, finds it even more hilarious when he dumps the bucket of dirty water on his little brother the first time they’re bathing D. 

It’s a good week. 

**Soccer**

Oregon brings forth new possibilities and new interests for both brothers.

Dean’s getting more invested in his training, ever so eager to help John and follow in ~~to~~ his footsteps. He even promised he’d consider taking him on a hunt soon!

He feels a little bad leaving Sam behind, but the kid will love spending time with Bobby. Maybe Pastor Jim if Bobby’s unavailable. 

Speaking of Sam; while Dean’s busy learning symbols, Sam’s busy trying out for the school’s soccer team.

Ever so enthusiastic about getting mixed in school activities, Sam gives it his all. He vows to try his hardest when Dean promises he’ll come see him at tryouts. 

Maybe it’s his big brother cheering for him loudly, and even attracting a few annoyed stares. 

Maybe it’s the way John had barely even spared him a glance when he’d told him, or maybe it’s just Sam achieving this on his own; but in the end he makes it. 

He makes the team. 

Seven year old Sam is starting to accept their lifestyle, the fact that they’re constantly on the move due to John’s job. 

Seven year old Sam still feels crushed when not even two days after he’d made the team, John announces they’re leaving. Pack up and hurry up, boys. Time for another town. Time to be the new kid again. 

So, eleven year old Dean steps in. Because he _knows._ Because he’s been taking care of this snot-nosed kid for a long time now and he can easily pinpoint the disappointment, he can see the exact moment hazel eyes stop shining and grow dull. 

And fuck, he really, really hates when Sammy sports that look.

That’s how Dean puts on the big boy pants he’s never really taken off ever since a fateful night when he was little. He puffs up his chest, marches right up to John and talks to him.

It’s not easy, and there’s frustration from both parties involved and Dean can’t help get a little wary of his own father when he sees the vein on his neck pulsing. 

It’s an uneasy feeling he can’t shake off, no matter how unwarranted it is. 

But with a promise to study his Latin translations harder and more hours a week, Dean strikes a deal. 

Dean’s in charge of Sam’s soccer activities from now on. 

It doesn’t weigh on the older boy; not even when he has to spend some of his own carefully saved money to buy Sam new sneakers.

Not when he gets to go to _all_ of Sammy’s matches and watch him be a normal, carefree kid. 

**Token**

Sam’s birthday, to the younger’s disappointment, comes and goes without so much as a peep. 

Sure, both Dad and Dean wish him a happy birthday, and for a moment, it looks like his brother’s gonna say more, like maybe he has something planned.

Sam waits eagerly for him to say something, anything. Maybe there’s cake and presents! 

But then, quick as lighting, John clamps a hand on Dean’s shoulder and the older brother clamps up. Sighing, he shares a secret look with his father and nods in resignation. 

They both leave without Sam. To do what, exactly? Dean tells him not to worry about, he’s gotta help Dad with work. Sam’s not so sure how Dean can be helpful to a traveling salesman. 

He goes to bed on May 2 with a belly full of Campbell’s soup instead of cake, no new additions to his measly collection of books or some friend to keep Bones company. No cool new sneakers for soccer. No celebration. 

He goes to bed feeling hollow inside at just 8-years-old. 

Next day brings a surprise to the motel. 

When Sam blearily opens his eyes, his science book’s open right next to him, resting on the side table close to his bed. Rubbing the sleep away, Sam sits up and takes a peek. It’s the solar system. 

They’ve been learning the planets at school, and Sam wouldn’t agree when Dean says he’s become an obsessed star freak but… well, he liked learning about constellations and the moon, okay? 

He’s surely been yapping Dean’s ear off lately.

“Ah, so you found it.” 

Sam’s head snaps up. Dean’s balancing a big bowl in his hands, whatever’s inside hidden from view as he joins Sam, taking a seat across him on his own bed. 

“My book?”

“That book, Sammy, is the introduction to your gift.”

Sam visibly perks up, sitting straighter and looking excitedly though with a hint of confusion at the bowl. Is… that his gift? Maybe Dean baked something? But what does that have to do with the solar system?

Dean hands him the bowl. Sam reaches for one of the shiny, glossy black rocks inside. There are several of them, various sizes and shapes. 

“They’re moon rocks.”

Sam’s eyes widen; he brings up the rock he’s currently holding closer to his eye, squinting at it, an awed breath instinctively leaving his mouth. 

“Really?”

“Yep. Found them last night with Dad. I’m thinking, maybe even a meteorite could’ve been nearby. Pretty cool, huh?”

Sam’s dimpled and _excited_ smile, and also the incessant blabber about moon facts Dean’s words seem to unleash are worth the ache in his arms from where he’d been carving away at a huge black boulder of granite near the warehouse where Dad had taken him shooting. 

And with a store bought cake, Dean and Sam finally celebrate that night. 

**Unveil**

It took Sam years to understand how much of a shadow John was in their lives.

Even now, at eight years old, Sam was still somewhat hopeful that the absent salesman would spend more time with them. 

That they’d celebrate holidays like normal families did. That maybe… maybe John would sit on the table with them, actually cook for once instead of leaving Dean to do it, and reminiscence about Mom. 

It was one of Sam’s recurring daydreams. 

Sam didn’t grow up idolizing their father, he grew up putting his big brother on a pedestal.

Dean was his hero, Dean was the coolest person around. His big brother, who cooked and read him stories, who took care of him when sick and always gave Sam second servings of the food they had. 

The one who was more of a father, really.

Sam’s family portrait might’ve been a bit cracked and empty most of the time; still, it hadn’t truly shattered until John made the colossal mistake of losing his temper _in front_ of Sam.

Worse than that, the man lost his temper on Dean. 

Dad’s good little soldier, the older sibling rarely let himself succumb to his own needs, his desires and craving of a normal life. 

John was used to obedience and the ever firm echo of ‘yes, sir’. 

Dean was his rock. 

John didn’t appreciate when his rock, the glue to hold this family together got testy and took a page right out of Sam’s book, asking if they could stay just a little longer in this town. 

Maybe it’d been his mistake, letting them settle for over a month now. 

“Dean, I’m not gonna repeat myself. Pack your bag. We’re leaving in twenty.”

Looking down, Dean seems to struggle, battling with himself and his nature. He looks at Sammy and the way his brother’s looking nervously back and forth between them. 

“Dad,” he begins his plea once more, forces himself to hold the man’s gaze. “Just one more week, I swear, I---”

“Damn it, Dean! I said no!” 

It’s an explosion. It’s not the first time Sam’s heard such a firm tone from John but it’s the first time he’s heard him yell at Dean. It’s the first time the man’s frustration’s built up into anger, into the red bloom of his livid expression and the clench of his jaw. 

It’s in the way John grips Dean’s arm tightly, tight enough to leave a bruise and physically drags him to his bag. It’s the nausea taking over Sam and the fear gripping his heart. 

“Pack. Your. Stuff,” John growls, emphasizes each word with a shove to get Dean into motion. 

"I expect you both to be in the car in ten minutes.” 

It’s less the slam of the door echoing in the quiet room; no, it’s more the fine tremor Sam detects, taking his time to observe his hero with wide eyes. Taking in the suspicious redness of his eyes and the quiver of his lip. 

It’s the resignation in Dean’s eyes that shatters Sam’s family portrait. Because Sam can pinpoint the exact emotions reflected in green and it’s not fear, not shock. 

Not the first time. 

**Visit**

It was supposed to be a simple hunt; Dean’s first hunt truly. 

Yeah, he’d tagged along to a few with his dad before but he mostly stayed in the Impala, sporting a mulish frown yet his little face still plastered to the window in hopes of catching some of the action. 

This was the first time he was gonna be _inside_ the house. Yeah, Dad had been very clear that despite his knowledge so far and his shooting, and his training, he still wasn’t ready, so Dean’s job was to salt the place and keep a lookout for the ghost. 

Dean’s excitement had been palpable the whole week, although Sam still refusing to really talk to him might’ve put a damper on his mood. 

Sam had become withdrawn since the… incident. 

More than that, he seemed to be _mad_ at Dean. Maybe both him and Dad, but then again, Sam not talking to John didn’t affect the older Winchester. Not like it affected Dean.

Dean had even tried breaking out his now famous mac‘n’cheese, and… nothing. 

So, this hunt was supposed to be a breath of fresh air. A chance to prove himself to his father, a chance for him to see the kind of hunter Dean could be, following into the family business. 

Dean couldn’t exactly pick out the moment where it all went wrong. He’d been alert, sharp eyes alert, and still the slight shake of his hands had betrayed him. And maybe the ghost was like a damn bloodhound, sensing his fear and going straight for him.

And before he could warn John, who’d been burning the remains, the ghost took one last shot at him, at the vulnerable element. 

He slammed Dean against the wall, _hard._ It effectively knocked him out. 

Dean thought he could hear John’s voice urging him to open his eyes, but it was all a blur of movement and voices, and before Dean knew it darkness was taking over him. 

Next time he opens his eyes, it’s to a bright white light that stings and the sound of someone crying softly next to him. 

“Dad?” Dean croaks weakly.

“H-h-he’s talking to the doctor,” a garbled voice hiccups wetly. 

Dean knows that voice. Attempting to sit up straighter, he winces ~~t~~ when the motion makes him nauseous, laying back down with a groan. 

“Sammy?”

A sob is his only response, and that’s all Dean needs to force himself to open his eyes and focus on his crying brother, even if it hurts, even if his body’s aching to go back to unconsciousness. 

Sammy’s crying. Dean’s supposed to fix whatever’s wrong. 

“Was it Dad?”

“What?”

“They said you… you hit your head and… and Dad wouldn’t tell me anything. Was it him, Dean? Did he…”

“No!” Dean winces himself at the harshness his tone takes, and Sam cowers in his plastic chair. 

“Look,” he starts again, regret coating his words, “Dad took me out on his job, he, he told you that, remember?” 

He waits for the nod, takes a deep breath and doesn’t even fight the hesitant hand that’s sought out his own, the fingers lacing instinctively, looking for the warmth and comfort they both need. 

“I fell down some stairs,” the lie rolls easily off his tongue. 

Sam’s watery eyes search Dean’s, his eight year old intuition pushing him to ask for more. Something doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. Something’s… always been off. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he says instead. “I was… I was mad at you for not telling me about Dad. I don’t wanna be mad at you anymore, De.”

‘De’ is a new olive branch that Dean’s too eager to take, Sam too pleading to even offer. Too remorseful as he looks at his big brother’s pale body almost blend into the sheets of the hospital bed. 

A hand squeezes Sam’s. 

“Dude, hospital food’s gonna suck.”

It startles a choked giggle from Sam and the youngest Winchester wipes his tears, meeting green eyes with a relieved smile. 

It’s the first of many apologies in a hospital bed to come. It’s the first time hunting truly scares Dean, with Sam by his side, feeling vulnerable and helplessly _human._

**Why**

Turns out, Dean only has a concussion. 

The doctor recommends staying the night. John disregards his advice and gets his son discharged as soon as possible. Won’t take long now for doctors to start prodding and asking questions. 

They get the hell out of dodge in record time, with a still slightly dizzy Dean and a quiet, pensive Sam at his heels. 

It isn’t until they’re far away, wrapped up in the safety net that a new town offers that Sam breaks his silence. 

Quiet as a mouse, he creeps up to Dean’s bed where his brother’s resting his eyes, a pillow propped up behind his back and a bottle of pills on his nightstand. 

“What’s Dad’s real job?”

“Traveling salesman. Shut up, m’trying to sleep.”

It flows easily, it’s something Sam would’ve bought if it hadn’t been for the latest events that have unfolded before his very eyes. Now, it sounds like a practiced lie. 

“What does he sell?”

“Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff… for the house. Quit asking, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t stop, he’s relentless and he crowds into Dean’s personal space without hesitation, ignoring the grumbling coming from his brother as the other scoots to make space for him on the tiny bed. 

“...What really happened to Mom?”

It’s an echo of the past that’s come back to haunt Dean. Suddenly, the green-eyed boy’s swarmed with a particular memory, many moons ago, of a smaller Sam, couldn’t have been more than five years old, asking what happened to their mom and why they didn’t have one.

“You don’t want to know.” Tiredness creeps into his voice and Dean internally beats himself up for it. 

Don’t let him hear you show vulnerability. Don’t let your walls down around him, you gotta keep up the front, boy. 

The voice sounds eerily like John.

Lies. They’re all lies. Dean’s words are a web of lies, they’re the spider in his children’s books, and Sam’s the fly. He’s been trapped in it long enough.

“Dean.” The tears of frustration that push against his eyelids are unbidden. 

“Sam.” Yet the pure _exhaustion_ in Dean’s voice comes from his very core. 

And the sadness in his eyes, the plea hidden beneath that layer… eight year olds shouldn’t be faced with it, they shouldn’t be able to read it. They shouldn’t know better. 

“Don’t ask, Sammy. Please.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Dean’s injured; maybe it’s because this is the first time Sam’s seen his real life hero look so broken down, crumbling under a weight he’s been carrying for nearly eight years; or maybe it’s that some part of Sam is still holding onto his perfect family picture.

Maybe he really doesn’t want to know.

He shuts his mouth and after shyly asking if Dean needs water for his pills, he snuggles up to his brother’s side.

Dean lets him. 

It won’t be until months later, around Christmas, that Sam will find out the truth. 

A new responsibility will befall him and he’ll tuck his very own family picture far away. 

**X-ray**

“So you said your Dad was…” 

“He’s with Pastor Jim, a shipment of products came in and he had to go pick them up.”

“And he cleared this with the school?”

“Yep. Left an emergency contact and everything” 

The lies roll easily off Sam’s tongue. His words aren’t as smooth as Dean’s, but then again his brother’s had more practice, whereas for Sam it’s only been a few months ever since he found out. 

Monsters. Hunting. The so-called “family business”. 

Boy, if that hadn’t been a fun talk to have with John. 

Dean still tried to keep him as sheltered as he could though, protected. John was partly relieved he wouldn’t have to keep making up excuses for his whereabouts. Dean politely didn’t correct him and say it was _him_ who more often than not dealt with that. 

At least the Winchester brothers were now reaching the point where Sam was sliding into this new routine of excuses, lies and shifting his whole reality to fit a brand new one. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be fractured…” very gently, Faye positions Sam’s wrist a little more to the left where it’s resting on the table. 

Her eyes flicker to his face, alert for any grimace that might indicate pain. 

There’s a twitch to his mouth, but the mobility range doesn’t seem to be affected. 

Nodding to herself, she takes a couple more necessary images before turning to her patient with a bright smile. 

“And you’re done. Do you want green or yellow?”

“Green, please.”

“Nothing seems to be broken. It appears--”

“Where the _hell_ is my brother? Sammy!”

Before Faye can regain her train of thought, the door pushes open to reveal a fuming, dare she say _wild-eyed_ kid that couldn’t be more than 13. A middle schooler storming toward her patient. 

“Oh thank god, your stupid teacher scared the crap out of me, kiddo!”

Sucking on his green lollipop, legs swinging from where they hovered a few inches above the ground, Sam shrugs and looks down at his still extended arm.

“Fell during recess.”

“Sammy…”

“...Mark pushed me.”

The brief look of relief that had settled in green eyes is replaced with the kind of fury Faye has never seen in kids. The kind of fury and protection that’s often associated with overprotective parents. Must be the brother mentioned in his academic file. 

“That little twerp, I’m gonna rip his lungs out!”

“Dean!”

“Are you hurt?” It’s sort of fascinating, watching the balance, or rather the switch between righteous anger and concern as the boy, or ‘Dean’ checks Sam over, hands cupping his face and making him look up. 

“He just pushed me and I landed on my wrist. It hurts, but it’s not uh… it’s not broken?” 

For the first time, Sam looks up at Faye, which in turn causes Dean to lock eyes with her, too. 

It’s ridiculous how the intense stare makes her slightly nervous. This is a middle-schooler, Faye’s faced the brunt of yelling parents and condescending superiors. She shouldn’t feel cowed under a kid’s gaze. And yet, she looks away.

“It’s sprained. Sam will have to wear a brace for a few weeks. It’s a mild sprain, so it should take around two to four weeks to heal,” she pauses, glances between the two. “Maybe we should wait for your dad to get back?”

Dean shakes his head. 

“Dad’s very busy even when he’s home, lady. _I_ can take care of Sam, okay?”

There’s something off about those words and for a worrying moment, Faye wants to inquire more but she takes one look at Dean’s gaze and instead, starts rattling instructions. 

And when she’s done, Dean repeats it back to her impeccably, nodding in determination just once before he slips an arm around his little brother’s shoulders and together, they leave. 

**Yard**

It’s one of Dean’s earliest memories after the fire. It’s one of the good ones. 

The man seemed too rough, too scruffy and his fridge was full of the brown bottles Dad liked to drink. 

Six-year-old Dean braced himself for a week without Dad, left with this stranger who would no doubt drink just like Dad and fall asleep in front of the TV. 

What he gained that day instead was a breakfast that consisted of homemade pancakes and orange juice. By afternoon, he was asked in a gruff yet gentle voice if he wanted to play catch. 

The man even broke out a baseball mitt for Dean. 

By the end of the week, the gruff-looking stranger became ‘Uncle Bobby’. 

Sam held fewer memories of the man. If he tried hard enough, he could feel the warmth of a fireplace and hear a man chastising John for not thinking of bringing them over for Christmas sooner. 

Bobby has a library and though some books are ‘off-limits’ he says, with weird scrawls and images on the cover, he happily hands over the few Sam’s allowed to read. 

It’s Bobby who gives him the amulet for Dad (for Dean). Tells him it’s real special. 

It’s the first time they’ve visited since Sam found out. 

“You’ve grown, squirt,” Bobby jokes, his eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. Before he can step further though, there’s a barrel of movement, a black flash by his side and not a second after, there’s a giant dog demanding Sam’s attention. 

“Well, Rumsfeld sure remembers you.”

Hazel eyes alight. He catches Dean’s smile with one of his own before he crouches next to the overenthusiastic dog and scratches behind his ears, lets himself be licked and showered in affection. 

The hesitant moniker of Uncle Bobby takes on a more solid meaning for Sam the two weeks he stays there. At the proud location of Singer Salvage Yard. 

Breakfasts are often homemade and not in a diner. Pancakes abound and Sam even gets to help the old man make them once or twice. He’s a fan of adding chocolate chips into the mix. 

Dean’s been told by John to practice his symbols during his stay; let Bobby help him. 

Bobby breaks out the baseball mitt once again instead. He doesn’t take Dean shooting. He takes them both out to play and on one memorable occasion ~~,~~ for ice cream. 

It’s a breath of fresh air for Dean and a reassurance for Sam. His whole world had been rocked drastically ever since that fateful Christmas. Bobby makes sure to grant him some more normalcy in a life where they get little of it. A kind of normalcy that will soon be replaced by training. 

For two weeks Sam’s once more, the proud co-owner of another dog. He eagerly helps bathe, feed and play with Rumsfeld, or ‘Rummy’ as he now fondly calls him. 

For two weeks, 12-year-old Dean gets to be a mechanic (not a hunter) in training. He helps at the salvage yard and gets more auto-shop lessons than he signed up for. 

He works with Bobby and drinks lemonade on the porch once they’ve repaired a red Camaro under the sweltering sun. 

He watches Sam throw the stick, watches the dog chase after it and tackle his brother. Sam’s laughter follows soon after as the younger Winchester falls to the grass. Dean briefly thinks he could get used to more days like this. 

Dean never takes his visits to Uncle Bobby’s for granted. 

When their dad comes back to pick them up and informs them it’s time to get Sam started in the family business as well, Sam thinks he’ll never take them for granted again either. 

**Zoo**

“Where’d you get money for the tickets?”

“You’ve been asking lots of questions about money lately, Sammy.”

“Was it Dad?”

“Yep. He told me to bring back a monkey instead of an annoying little brother.”

“I wanna go see the monkeys, can we?”

“Sure, let’s go meet your new family.”

Sam rolls his eyes ~~,~~ but follows dutifully. He grabs for Dean’s outstretched hand quickly and looks around, whispering to his big brother.

“You’re not supposed to feed them.”

“Well, that’s stupid. What do I do with these, then?”

“You eat them.” Reaching for a peanut, Sam popped it in his mouth, ignoring Dean’s grumbling and watching the exhibit with a small smile. 

It was a slow day but that just meant less crowds, less people worried about two kids visiting the zoo on their own. More time for Sam and Dean to calmly walk through every exhibit. 

Sam could read the little plaque where they listed a bunch of animal facts and Dean could cram more peanuts in his mouth without worrying about grabby little fingers stealing them. 

It isn’t until they reach the tigers that Sam voices what he’s been bottling up ever since that last day at Bobby’s, what he’s been too hesitant to say.

“Dean,”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna hunt monsters like Dad. I’m… I don’t want them to get me like they got Mom.”

‘I’m scared’, Dean doesn’t need Sam to say it out loud to hear it. He doesn’t need to look into his brother’s eyes to see the fear reflected there. 

The fear his very own soul echoes; the one Dean’s trying his hardest to let go of. He knew this day was coming, he knew Sam would eventually follow into Dad’s footsteps, too. 

He didn’t think the prospect of it happening so soon would clamp down on his beating heart and force him to relive his mother burning on the ceiling. Only now it was Sam. 

“No monster’s gonna get you, Sam. Dad won’t let them. I… I won’t let them either.” 

A twin pair of shaky sighs are exhaled. Sam looks away from the tigress bathing her cub with her tongue. He meets Dean’s eyes instead and bites down on his lower lip. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

Sam tears off a piece of the cotton candy Dean bought him at the last exhibit, holds it out to his brother and gets some more peanuts in exchange. 

“I like the zoo, Dean.”

“Me too, Sammy.”

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, well, Bobby gave me money for the tickets.”

Sam smiles. One last taste of normalcy; two people in his life determined to make it last. 

It’s the beginning of a new, scary world for Sam, but somehow Dean making faces at the monkeys and sneaking the ostriches a peanut or two on a day where he should be giving Sam ‘the talk’ makes it easier. Lighter.

They carry that weight together. 


End file.
